


Medics

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: A quick meeting on a battlefield.





	Medics

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick fic with Killer, and introducing Sharps!

“Hey there, vod.  Hold still for me, okay?”  Sharps nods, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he tries to breathe through the pain.  The medic that’s appeared at his side moves fast, pressing a trauma pad to the wound pumping blood to soak into the nanoprene of his suit.  “Udesii, breathe.  You’re doing great.  What’s your name?”

“Sharps, CT-9827.”  He bites back a sound of pain as the rocks pinning him shift, pressing down on the spot where he’s pretty damn sure his leg is broken.  

“You and you,” the medic shouts as a pair of vode in 212th gold head in their direction, “I need you to lift these rocks -  _ carefully _ , for ancestors’ sake - when I tell you to.  Do it  _ fast _ .”   He looks down at Sharps.  “Need you to stay still, alright?  I’m gonna pull you out, don’t worry.  I’ve got you.  Name’s Killer, by the way.”

“Killer-” Sharps snorts, wincing when the motion jolts the wound along his ribs, right where the plates of his armor gap, “Reassuring name for a medic, vod.”

“Why’d you think I kept it?” Killer shoots back, seemingly pleased at the response, “Alright, three-two-one- _ go _ -”  Sharps curses vividly in every language he can think of as the rock is levered off his leg, and Killer drags him out.   “Still doing good, just keep breathing, you’re alright.  It’s a clean break - you’re gonna be just fine.”  He looks up, comming for a stretcher.

Sharps manages a nod.  “Thanks, vod.”  

Killer tilts his head down and rests a hand on the plate over his chest.  “It’s my job, I’m glad to do it.”  He stands up, directing the crew to get Sharps up on the stretcher and to the approaching transport.  “Go on, they’ll take good care of you.”

As Sharps looks back, Killer is bolting off toward the next wounded brother, and he slumps back against the stretcher.  Medics.  Gods love them.


End file.
